


Pulling the String

by cleanlittlesecret



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, VRAINS Rarepair Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleanlittlesecret/pseuds/cleanlittlesecret
Summary: I'll handle them.You're...(Written for the prompt "Soulmate AU.")





	Pulling the String

_I’ll handle them._

The words hung in the space between his shoulder blades where Yuusaku couldn’t see them without the help of a mirror or camera, and during the Lost Incident, those six hellish months of ignorance, they faded to the back of his mind to be replaced with food and family and freedom. Afterwards, when everything was still raw, the words became a comfort, a promise that someone would help him someday. The promise of a total stranger wanting to help him was all he had to hold as everyone around him became frustrated with his inability to recover, to go back to the playful and happy child they wanted. He was too young to grasp what a soulmate was beyond the romanticized words he’d been fed, but he knew what it was like to be loved.

As he grew older, he realized the mark promised nothing he needed. Saying they would help him didn’t mean they would—or _could_ —do so, and it would be nothing new for someone to offer a hand only to get sick of him when he couldn’t become what they wanted. Instead of promising help, the mark guaranteed another problem to solve, and he had enough of those already, so whatever happened, he would handle it on his own like everything else.

_Still…_

The day arrived where those words— _his words_ —came from the mouth of a stranger, a wild-looking virtual boy of fire and gold, and as recognition jolted through him, he found a trust he didn’t know he had. Despite everything, he believed those words, but afterwards, when everything that would happen had happened, and his _soulmate_ had given only his username before logging out, he found himself lost. What was Yuusaku supposed to do with this person?

* * *

_You’re…_

The mark was short enough to fit on the back of his left hand, and over the years, Takeru traced its strokes with a finger so many times that he often caught himself doing it without thinking.

お前は

A fragment of thought, something so nonrevealing that as a child he’d gotten confused by how many times he heard it before his parents explained that when it was _really_ said, he would know. To make him feel better, they speculated about why his soulmate would say only that upon meeting him—maybe their sentence would be cut short, and he would get to be surprised by the rest of it; maybe they’d be strong and cool, a person of few words; maybe they’d be so stunned by the sight of him they would become speechless. Which would he prefer?

During those six months of torture, the mark became an anchor Takeru held to remember his parents and the person he’d been promised to meet, and it helped him through the isolation and terror, but afterwards it became a scar, another reminder of his parents’ deaths. Fading into an isolation of his own making, he knew the odds of meeting his soulmate were dropping, but wouldn’t it be better this way? He couldn’t take it if the mark meant disappointment, if that person saw him bitter and helpless and sad and hated him for it, so he was safer in a rural town where everyone knew him and nobody spoke to him, even if he spent hours staring at the mark regardless.

_But…_

Change came, and although he felt himself get excited about the mark along with everything else, it slipped to the back of his mind. He wasn’t thinking about it when he moved to a city full of strangers, or when he designed his avatar with the left hand covered, or when he seized his chance to help someone who’d given him courage. He didn’t remember the word until it slipped from the mouth of one of his virtual heroes, and as recognition flared in his chest, he realized his parents had been right—Takeru did know.

* * *

One evening at his apartment, Yuusaku let Takeru see the mark on his back. Sitting on his bed as Takeru sat backwards in the desk chair, he had to pull his t-shirt over his head to uncover the words, and as Yuusaku tugged the shirt back into place, Takeru said, “You know, I didn’t feel like I was saying anything important. It was just what I was thinking, so I didn’t expect it to be so dramatic.”

Yuusaku turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “Did you really think you weren’t being dramatic?”

Takeru chuckled. “Okay, I was trying to be a little cool when I did all that, but I didn’t expect it to be something, like, _fateful._ ”

“A little cool?”

“Okay! We’ve already established that I wanted to impress you, so please let it go now. Geez, you’ve been hanging around Flame too much.” He rested his crossed arms on the chair’s back with a huff, but as Yuusaku held back a reminder of which was them was the partner of the Fire Ignis, Takeru’s pout twisted into a sheepish smile. “But you know, to be honest…I wish you would rely on me more.”

Yuusaku tensed like a string yanked taut.

“I know you can handle things yourself, but I really want to help, and it’s a little frustrating when you won’t let me, so can you start being more open with me about what you need and what I can do for you?”

He didn’t know how to handle how wrong he’d been, and it still felt safer to assume the worst and detach himself from the fate written on his back, but Takeru wouldn’t allow it. Still, Yuusaku was close to only a few people, so he couldn’t stand it if Takeru was hurt for his sake.

“Yuusaku? Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine,” he said, and Takeru frowned.

“That right there is what I’m talking about—you hide things instead of telling me about them. Were you even listening?”

“I was listening.” He’d lifted that same old mask into place, but something must have revealed him, for Takeru left the chair to sit beside him on the bed. Yuusaku braced himself for prying questions, but Takeru stayed quiet in a way that was almost worse, so he took a slow breath. “I can’t do what you asked because I don’t want to see you hurt. You’ve already gotten caught in a trap because you tried to save me, and our situation is only getting more dangerous.”

Takeru leaned closer. “But—”

“I’m scared.”

He fell silent. They both knew fear, had both seen its mark on their lives for the past ten years, so Takeru must have understood even as he tilted his head. “What about you? You risk yourself all the time.”

“I know I can take it.”

“Then I can too.” Takeru smiled. “No offense, Yuusaku, but I don’t think you’re so much stronger than me now, and I wish you’d think a little better of me. I get your concerns, but I can’t stay back while you fight for everyone, so we’ll just have to watch out for each other like we’ve already done.”

“I—”

“Nope! End of discussion!” Takeru leaned back with his eyes closed. “We’re already stuck together, so you’ll just have to put up with it. I won’t go anywhere or back down, and that’s final.”

Yuusaku shut his mouth with a huff, but a faint smile followed it, and his eyes dropped to the hand resting between them on the bed. The first time he’d seen Takeru at school, he’d felt a second jolt at the simple mark on his hand, a placement where anyone could see it unless its bearer chose to cover it—had Takeru felt the same at finally reading his words on Yuusaku’s back? Yuusaku picked up Takeru’s hand to study the mark, and when he pressed a kiss to it, he felt the muscles and tendons under the skin flinch.

“Y-Yuusaku?” Takeru was comfortable enough with their relationship to not turn blood red, but a hint of color showed on his cheeks, and Yuusaku squeezed his hand. It felt contradictory that one person could both excite and calm him, often at the same time, but being with Takeru rubbed balm into the old wounds, and despite the scars, he could learn to trust it.


End file.
